


Teen!Levi x ill!Reader

by SmexyLeviLover



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmexyLeviLover/pseuds/SmexyLeviLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's this girl in middle school who smells....clean, and Levi finds himself attracted towards her. :)</p><p>"Hey, what laundry detergent do you use?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She smells like Alcohol

Teen!Levi x ill!Reader: She smells like Alcohol [1/3]   
Series completed. Links in description.  
Some words are hyper-linked to include pictures if you click on the word.

_As told from Levi's point of view._

**Trost Middle School, Modern day.**

**Morning, 8 am.**

There's this girl at my school who smells really good. It's a sort of clean smell, not like some daisy-scented car-air freshener but I can't put a name on it. The odor feels as though it could burn through the mucus of your throat as you inhale, but I don't particularly dislike it. Its cleansing smell reminds me of Windex. 

Tch, why can't I recall the name?

I breathe in and sigh, my ears deaf to our teacher's ramblings about how she tripped on her skis and met a _dashing_ man during vacation. We've all returned from winter break, and with the new seating assignment, my desk is at the back of the classroom near the door. 

Fun shit, right? 

Of course, I'm the first to know who enters and exits. It's unfortunate. I used to hate that damn creaking sound until I came to associate it with _her_ scent. This girl, I guess I've never paid much attention to her name, so I don't know it, but she sits towards the back as well on the other side of the classroom. She seems diligent about taking notes, but she doesn't ask a lot of questions. She's quiet, keeps to herself sorta. And then she disappears multiple times from the classroom, almost once every 1 1/2 to 2 hours. I wonder if she has chronic diarrhea or something...

**Lunch, 12 pm.**

"Look at her! She brings the same lunch every day! She's _so_ boring and plain!" 

I turn away from Hanji and Erwin for a moment to see a few girls from our classroom point at the strange-smelling girl. They eventually end up leaving her alone, and the minute they do, my deft ears catch her mumbles. 

"Yeah, cuz my parents don't stick me with Lunchables every day, _bitch._ "

My eyes widen for a moment. A timid girl who curses? Huh, interesting contradiction. And then, my mind goes nuts suddenly because once again, I get a whiff of that special odor. I become impatient. 

"Hey, I'll be back in a bit," I tell my friends who continue to discuss plans for how to win the school's official Dodge-Ball during PE. Ugh, such nerds.

I walk straight up to her table with my chin raised, eyes darting left and right to find on the source. All I can see is her backpack and lunchbox. No air-freshener, no nothing.

I'm forced to ask, "Hey, what laundry detergent do you use?" My arms are crossed over my black denim jacket, and I'm tapping my finger near my elbow. Up. Down. Up. Down. When is she going to reply?

She looks up, her hair swaying slightly and a startled expression on her face. 

"What?" she replies in a puzzled manner. 

"I asked what detergent you use. You smell....(for lack of a better word) clean."

Her mouth opens, and after what seems like an entire year, a kind of half-hearted, apathetic laughter sounds. " _Wow_ , and I thought I was bad at socializing."

My tongue clicks in response as she continues laughing. It's awkward. Her body is hunched over, and her shoulders are trembling, but not a lot of sound is coming out. A knot sort of fills my stomach nonetheless, and it feels weird because this is the first time I've ever seen her do anything other than stare at stuff with boredom. 

Seems like I must've been a pretty funny guy because she's still going at it. In fact, she even inadvertently moves her arm across the table and pushes her lunchbox to the side, and that's when I can smell it again. The source is this small black zipper pouch thing that had been behind her lunchbox. It looks almost like a pencil case, so my hand darts for it and my fingers pull on the zipper. 

I take a peek and the inside is....strange. 

"Hey, give that back, you wench!" she yells as she snatches the object from me. 

A wench? Really?

She's about ready to zip it back up and stick it in her backpack, but I'm still curious (about the smell). 

"What's that?" I ask. Just for the record, I wasn't going to take "no" for an answer if she did refuse, but I tend to avoid forceful tactics. Too much trouble (in having to hold back). 

Her lips purse as she debates whether or not I really want to know or maybe she's wondering if it's worth the explanation. She mumbles, shrugs her shoulders, and then pushes her lunch aside to open the black case fully. I casually take a seat across from her, ignoring Hanji and Erwin's teasing whispers and gossip from the far corner, as she explains,

"This is my [test kit](http://sta.sh/01o13bnuufnr)." [link to pic]

My eyes glance over the small objects inside. There's some weird cylindrical box that says "test strips," small capped needles with plastic, rectangular bases, a device that looks almost like a mini GameBoy sorta, another device that I can't even find the words to describe, and then....I see it. The smell, _fuck_ , how could I have even missed it? It was disinfectant -- alcohol swabs!

"What's this for?" I inquire. Needles and swabs....pointed to maybe drug addict, but then that didn't explain the other devices. I glanced over to her eyes. They had bags under them and were a bit red, maybe from a lack of sleep...or maybe from shooting up. 

"You think I'm a druggie, don't you?" she asks, a small smirk hinting on her features. 

I raise a brow and act cool. It's usually what I do. "Perhaps."

"Eh." She shrugs her shoulders without much care again. I guess it's a habit. "I get that a lot, especially when people see the needles. I'm actually a type one diabetic. I have to monitor my blood sugar, so this is my test kit."

"So how do you use it?"

"I poke myself with a needle, collect the drop of blood on the test strip, and then the glucometer measures how much sugar is in my blood. If it's too high, I inject myself with insulin. If it's too low, I eat."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you diabetic?"

"Eh," she says again. I guess that's also a habit. "In our bodies, we have cells that make this thing called insulin. It helps regulate our blood sugars when we eat. But in my case, my immune system decided to kill off all the cells in my body that make insulin, so now my blood sugar is out of whack." She stares and takes note of my curious face, already shaking her head. "It's a long story. The science behind it isn't worth it. They don't even know much tbh."

"Tbh?"

"To be honest."

"I see."

There's an awkward silence between us. It seems like she's the talkative type if the other person knows how to keep a conversation going. And it's not like I have anything else to do so I keep it going.

"So you shit a lot? Is that another thing caused by...diabetes?"

"No," she says, her brows furrowed in a twisted disgust when she realizes why I think this way. "Ugh," she groans. "Fuck that stupid ass nurse!"

I raise an eyebrow. "Why the nurse?"

"Cuz she's full of shit and says I have to test in the nurse's office in case someone is scared of blood, but walking all the way there makes me miss some of the teacher's lecture. And the stupid bitch teacher never tells me what I missed anyways. So I test in the bathroom since it's closer, although I'm starting to give less and less shits about it."

"Why don't you just not give a fuck and test in the classroom?"

Her hands slam on the table dramatically, loud enough for a few people to turn and stare. Her voice is low as to avoid the teacher's ears, but she declares, "You know what? You're right. No fucks given then. Why should I have to inconvenience myself for someone who _might_ be scared of blood. That kid needs to go get some balls."

She continues by removing her lunch box and opening her testkit right on the cafeteria table. She tears the covering of the alcohol swab and wipes her left pointer finger, waving it in the air afterwards for the fluid to evaporate. The smell still entrances me, but her maneuvers do so more.

She uncaps a needle and sticks it into what she called a lancing device. She pulls on the back and there's a clicking noise, similar to cocking a gun. My eyes part with the devices to stare at her face. Her eyes are sparkling with a childish mischievousness, and a small smile hints on her lips. Deft hands move to take out a test strip from the cylindrical box and inserts half of the flat end into what I assume to be the glucometer. 

A click sounds in the cafeteria. It's small, and only I hear it. But she's satisfied as a small droplet of blood forms on her finger. She holds the glucometer with the other hand and places the test strip just barely touching the drop. Blood is sucked like a vacuum into the thin strip, and the screen of the glucometer has the image of an arrow turning in a square. 

_Beep._

The number reads 136, obtained in under a minute. It's quite impressive really, though I don't know what it means. 

And she seems quite proud of herself as she begins eating, leaving the testkit out in all it's glory, for teachers and students to stop and stare as they find a place to sit in the cafeteria. She clearly doesn't mind the stares. And I don't either. In fact, I'm more bothered that she hasn't thrown the alcohol swab covering away, but I fight the urge to clean up after her. 

It becomes easier when she asks with a full mouth, "So what's your name?"

"Levi," I reply smoothly. She doesn't seem to take notice of the rice piece at the side of her mouth, so I hand her a napkin and point to the area. 

She gladly accepts and says, "I'm _______."

We continue talking and I realize,

Huh, she's not at all the quiet type. And she's in a pretty fucking jolly mood, though she lacks the bubbly smiles that most girls have. She's not hard to read. She just doesn't exaggerate her expressions like others. 

And every once in a while, she still glances proudly at her testkit. The blood on the test strip is drying into this orange-brown color as the kit lay open for the world to see. It's like a stab in the gut of all hemophobics or maybe she just wants to piss off the nurse. Either way, it feels like I've created a monster....

_But I don't particularly dislike it._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

END OF SMEXYNESS

Here's a link to the picture of my sister's test kit.   



	2. She's got Glitter

Teen!Levi x ill!Reader: She's got Glitter [2/3]  
Series completed. Links to Parts 1 and 3 below.  
Some words are hyper-linked to include pictures if you click on the word.

_As told from Levi's point of view._

**Trost Middle School, Modern day.**

**Thursday, 1 pm.**

It wasn't hard to realize that I have heightened senses compared to the rest of my classmates, especially when I used to hear girls chattering about what guy they liked. Confessions were amusing and made up for the boredom that plagued the school environment. 

Nowadays though, all I hear are conversations about periods. It's hardly interesting to listen about how "embarrassing it is to carry pads in the grocery store." Geez, it's like they make a big deal out of everything to the point where it's not even amusing anymore. 

Lately, my attention has turned towards this one girl in our class who refrains from conversations about such matters. In fact, she refrains from pretty much any conversation at all unless someone else talks to her first. 

I find her fun to "figure out," sort of like a puzzle almost. Her expressions are few and short, but a skilled eye can easily identify the upward turn of her lips. And deft ears can catch the deflections in her voice when she's troubled or over-joyed. Most importantly, she always smells like disinfectant because she's a type 1 diabetic and uses alcohol swabs to wipe her finger before testing her blood sugar.

_Thank the lord for type 1 diabetics._

So it feels like I've already filled in all the pieces right? 

Wrong.

I have yet to ask her about this beeping sound I hear from her every so often. It's sort of like a musical chime, three _dings_ that no one else seems to hear. 

While Erwin and Hanji are distracted with their upcoming dodgeball "plan of attack," I stray away and find that girl. It's been a while since we've spoken. 

"Yo." I wave at her with a slight movement of my hand, and she acknowledges with an upward glance. I notice a rectangular device in her hand, sort of like a pager, but there's tubing connected to it that seems to lead under her shirt. 

Acting on a whim, I grab the hem of her shirt and lift it upward slightly just to see where the tubing goes, and I don't expect her to react the way she does at all. She smacks my hand away, beats it repeatedly, and then jumps back, sort of like a rabbit. Meanwhile, I'm sort of in a "what the fuck" mode. 

"Levi, what are you doing?!" she shouts at me. 

My assaulted hand (which is a nice shade of red right now) points half-heartedly. "The tubing," I explain.

A moment passes before she drops her guard. "Ohhh, wait. Why didn't you just ask to see where it goes?"

"Well, can I?"

"No."

I'm glaring at her, and she's glaring at me, but a blush is rising to her face. I'm debating whether or not to continue teasing her since it's interesting to see her being so expressive. 

"So where does it go?" I ask. 

She fidgets shyly before admitting, "my stomach."

Ah, that might explain the unexpected reaction. 

"So what is it?"

She opens her mouth to reply but seems to rethink the answer again. She's always doing that when I ask her about stuff related to diabetes. I guess she just wants to explain it in a way I could understand. 

"It's my [insulin pump](http://sta.sh/01st11t4n79v). [link to pic] You remember how I'm supposed to inject myself with insulin after I eat? Well, the pump has insulin inside of it, and I just press some numbers and voila. Insulin goes from the pump through the tubing into my stomach."

I nod and listen. For the time being, she and I are walking side by side to the PE lockers. Her pace is pretty slow so I'm just matching it. It's not hard since I have short legs anyways. 

"So what happens if you don't have your pump?" I ask.

"Eh. Well, if I don't have access to insulin, I'll die eventually. Probably. I'm not sure how long it'd take." She shrugs her shoulders and mumbles to herself, continuing to walk as if the weight of her words are as light as air.

They're not.

I stop. My feet refuse to move. And I'm left wordless as she takes the turn into the girl's dressing room. 

So type 1 diabetes is a life-threatening disease....?

**Thusday, 2 pm**

PE is fucking stupid. I hate it. It should be the last course of the day. Who wants to spend two more hours in school all sweaty and grimy? 

You'd think that anger would blind me and make me see red and all that shit imagery our English teacher was talking about, but I still end up finding [Name] sitting on the bleachers to the side. It seems like she's done running her mile. Her test kit sits on the bench wide open, needle, swabs, and all. It doesn't receive as many stares as it did last week when she tested in the classroom for the first time. Ever since then, students have gotten used to seeing it, and some have even asked her what it is. 

(We also apparently don't have any hemophobes in our class.)

She's readying to test her blood sugar when she sees me. Her eyes focus on my face and then towards another area of my body of more concern. 

"What happened?" she inquires as I take a seat next to hear. My knee hurts like shit, and it's red and throbbing like hell. 

I huff out. "You know Jean and Eren, right? Those idiots were racing and ran into me."

I watch her from the corner of my eye and catch her gaze quickly divert to an empty grass field. Something's up. 

"What?" I interrogate. She's used to my intrusive questions. 

"I don't really like Jean."

Well kid, no one does. But I let her continue.

"We used to be friends last year," she explains, "until he started being mean to me. I asked him why and he said it was because he wanted to be popular, and since all the popular kids were mean to me, he was going to act like that too." Her voice is wavering slightly as she hands me an alcohol swab for my knee.

I don't need any sort of heightened perception to see that she's upset. My leg taps impatiently on the ground, as a sort of control mechanism to keep my ass grounded to the bench. I wouldn't want her to see the violent energy that's bubbling inside of me. 

Though, when I see Jean's face laughing stupidly at Eren, it feels like it's going to boil over. 

My patience is running thin as an ice sheet, but the strong, burning sensation of alcohol breaks my trance. I see her wipe her finger with alcohol, and then apply pressure on the skin. A small red droplet of blood forms on her finger tip. 

A distraction. "Wait, aren't you supposed to use the needle?" I question. 

She doesn't bother to look at me as she grabs a glucometer with the test strip inserted. "Yeah, but why make a new one when I can just reopen a previous hole?" 

"I thought the holes you have to make to draw blood close eventually?"

"Eh," she says. "If I poked you with a needle, it would heal. But I poke my fingers multiple times a day. I have a lot of holes that have accumulated on my fingers anyways. After all, I've been diabetic since I was 2. Plus, whether I use a needle or not, it's not like it makes a difference. Blood is blood." 

Her face holds no emotion, and I finally see all the tiny [dots](http://sta.sh/01o1gccww5j1) [link to pic] on imprinted on the pads of her fingers. They're darkly colored and randomly centered, as if someone arbitrarily dropped a pile of tiny glitter pieces and flattened it on her fingers. 

But those dots aren't glitter. You can't wash them away. 

I feel sick, and I've found something I hate even more than PE at the moment,

**my perception.**

I hate it because this girl doesn't just look like she couldn't care less. 

She really doesn't give two shits. 

\---------------------

END OF SMEXYNESS

here's the link to my sister's insulin pump:

 

yes, it chimes when it delivers insulin. lol. that's actually how I find other diabetics. I hear that familiar sound and I'm like, OMG ARE U DIABETIC? MY SISTER IS DIABETIC. YALL SHOULD BE DIABETIC FRIENDS. (cuz I really want her to have some diabetic friends TTuTT)

and here's the link to the "dots" or holes on my sister's finger. yep. type 1 diabetes sucks.  



	3. She's fucking Amazing

Teen!Levi x ill!Reader: She's Fucking Amazing [3/3]  
Series completed. Links to Parts 1 and 2 below.

_As told from Levi's point of view._

**Trost Middle School, Modern day.**

**Monday, 1 pm.**

"You look shit tired." 

She turns around in annoyance, an expression she saves for special events. Hm, I guess she deemed me worthy. 

"Last night, my pump malfunctioned and my dad had to change it 3 times. I only got 2 hours of sleep," she replies in an irritated manner. 

Tch, I should have held my tongue. Words don't exactly come easy to me. I'm not eloquent and shit. And I can't "articulate" like my teacher wants me to. 

But I'll be damned if I can't even compliment her for not skipping school.

"You put up with shit well." There. That's the best I can manage. 

"Pft. Thanks, I guess." She laughs and brushes it off like it doesn't mean much to her to receive any sort of praise from me, but she's not hiding her smile that well this time. 

She removes her backpack from the seat, and I accept that as my ticket to sit next to her on the bleachers as we wait for the PE teacher. 

As she bends down to tie her shoe laces, my eyes gloss over the strands of her hair that part at her neck. I have an idea.

"Hey, why don't we run together today?"

She bounces up, a bit more energetically than she usually seems. A smirk on her face explains it all. "If you can keep up with me," she smiles proudly. "I can finish a mile in 6 minutes."

The reaction on my face makes her laugh again, but hell. That's the fastest time for a girl, even some of the guys. Most get it done in 8 minutes. 

I'm impressed. "Wipe that pathetic smirk off your face, brat. What makes you think I can't keep up with you?" 

The teasing works and she's riled up, even more excited to show me what she's worth. Maybe the lack of sleep is making her tipsy. It's probably better if I run with her anyways. 

I worry sometimes. She seems apathetic about her disease. I don't think it's healthy. I think she should worry more about herself, but at the very least, it's not like she's given up on life. She's still trying. And I admire little shits like that. 

"Ah fuck!" she groans just as soon as our PE teacher shows up on the field. "I need to test my blood sugar, but then we'll be late for PE." She looks at her backpack and then back at the field. "Eh, screw it."

I give her a side glance, and she knows what I'm about to say. "What if exercising drops your blood sugar like last time?" 

 _Last time_ refers to when she didn't realize her blood sugars were low to the point where she almost fell. I had to half carry her to the bleachers and open the juice box for her since her hands were too shaky. 

This time, I'm sure that she hears the stern tone in my voice. "Didn't you say that a really low blood sugar can lead to a coma?"

"Yeah," she shrugs, "but the likelihood it'll happen is low."

"Test. I'll wait for u."

She rolls her eyes in response, but tests her blood sugar nonetheless. I walk out towards the field as she puts her kit in her backpack, but wait for her halfway as promised.

She jogs to catch up and hands me an unopened alcohol swab. 

My fingers clasp the covering, but I'm staring at it blankly for a few seconds before I ask, "What's this for?"

"It's my thanks."

My brows twist in confusion as her lips twist into a smile.

"What? You don't think I noticed?"

Ah, this _brat._

\------------------------------

END OF SMEXYNESS


End file.
